


The Three C's: Comfort, Convenience & Complication

by AndreaLyn



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to his lawyers, if McCoy gets married again, he can have improved custody of Joanna. Luckily, the answer is right under his nose. Not so luckily, it's complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Three C's: Comfort, Convenience & Complication

    

McCoy’s lived his life not looking at the fine print, searching the smaller details, or looking for something hidden behind the obvious. He signed away so many rights to Jocelyn in the divorce that sometimes he wonders if he’s not going to be paying for it into the next life. It gets to the point that he lets himself be a victim of whatever he thinks he’s owed in life and doesn’t even believe that there’s a way out of this dismal rabbit hole until a lawyer has left a message in his private inbox, the one that even Captains and Communications Officers aren’t allowed to look at.  
  
 _Doctor McCoy_ , the man starts.  _I’ve taken over your file from your prior divorce lawyer and there’s something that my predecessor may have overlooked. Call me at your convenience, but it looks like we can revise this custody arrangement under the right circumstances._  
  
He’s left with just that message as he starts a new week aboard the  _Enterprise_  and thinks little of it. Messages like that don’t really mean anything in the long run. It’s just lawyers trying to squeeze pennies out of you just because they found some new provision that states this, that, and the other.   
  
It’s Sunday by the time he takes the time to go over his messages and that’s only because Jim is being incessant about needing to find some old communication between them.   
  
“I just need to prove that I sent a missive asking about the rash I had  _before_  I started the pills, not the other way around,” Jim is noting, pacing around the room while McCoy sifts through messages, muttering to himself as he does so. “Hey, Bones…” he adds distractedly.  
  
“What, Jim?”  
  
“How come your divorce lawyer is calling? Did you get hitched again or something?”  
  
“He says he can revise the custody situation, but seeing as it’s been four years, god knows the man is probably just trying to squeeze more money out of me,” McCoy complains as he finds the memo from Jim, bringing it up on the screen as he lifts it up to show. “There. Incontrovertible proof that you weren’t abusing pills when you had that rash,” he deems with a nod. “Don’t go mad with the power this gives you.”  
  
“I’ll try,” Jim deadpans easily. “Bones, call the guy back. I’ll pay for it if you can’t write it off as a legal fee deemed necessary by Starfleet.” He leans over to copy down the details of the message and gives an assured nod. “Do it now, while you’re still stewing over it and calling me an idiot in your head. And yes, I know you do that,” Jim assures, clapping him on the shoulder. “Here, I’ll even dial!” he adds brightly, leaning over to grab the comm to the sound of McCoy’s protests, but soon enough, it’s ringing.  
  
McCoy upgrades the denigration in his head from  _idiot_  to more choice words to describe how frustrating Jim can be on any given day.   
  
“John Bannister,” the lawyer answers the call as his office and the man’s face pops up on the screen. “Ah! Perfect, Leonard McCoy, I was starting to think you hadn’t received my message.”  
  
“It’s a Sunday, why are you working on a Sunday?” McCoy mutters, trying to keep Jim pushed behind him as he looks at the man to speak to him.   
  
“I’m a busy man. And I’m sure you are, too. Let’s get right to business.” He shuffles papers and clears his throat, gaze pointedly on Jim in the background. “This  _is_  a private matter, Dr. McCoy. Is this man your…”  
  
“Yes!” Jim cuts in before any label can be put on anything, answering for the both of them with that bright and brilliant look in his eyes, the one that says that if anyone gets in his way, he’ll just have to hatch some dastardly scheme in order to throw them aside. “Yes, I am. Go on, we have no secrets here.”  
  
And that much is true, at least. It’s not like McCoy really minds Jim being present for a meeting that is more than likely going to simply confirm the fact that Joanna is still as out of reach as ever.  
  
“Yes, here,” Bannister notes as he draws up the papers. “Your previous lawyer wasn’t exactly the best our firm had to offer and we do apologize for that, Doctor. Of prime interest at the moment is the custody situation. We believe that it may be reversible. You may be able to see Joanna more,” Bannister says cheerfully. “Especially given what I’ve seen here today.”  
  
McCoy definitely got lost somewhere along the way of this conversation. “Come again?”  
  
“Your ex-wife is mainly concerned about Joanna growing up in a family-bound environment. And so, you see, if you were to be married, we could make the case that you are in a prime position to give that to your daughter. We could bargain a fifty-fifty arrangement if that was the case.”  
  
His words seem vaguely hollow because McCoy isn’t really paying attention anymore. All he’s heard is that he has to get married and he’ll have Joanna.   
  
“Married,” is all McCoy manages to echo aloud.   
  
“We’d just require the papers. As you are in space the majority of the time, you wouldn’t be able to bring her up, but any shore leave you take, Joanna would be with you one-hundred percent of the time,” Bannister agrees.   
  
That arrangement is a marked difference from the zero-percent of the time that he has her now thanks to Jocelyn’s ability to steal his daughter fully away from him. McCoy’s mouth goes dry and his throat grows blocked as he starts to process all of this. He barely remembers Jim is in the room with him until the Captain starts to ask questions of his lawyer that McCoy isn’t even paying attention to.   
  
Eventually, someone hangs up, though McCoy isn’t sure if it’s his side or the other, but he’s left gaping at a blank screen.  
  
“Bones?” Jim is asking lightly. “Bones, you still in there?”  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees, but he sounds vaguely unsteady and unsure. “Yeah, I’m still here.” His mind has already jetted off to think of a thousand other things because he can barely focus on the present at that point in time. It all seems so simple and so difficult at once -- if he gets  _married_ , he can have Joanna in his life again. The only hitch is that he hasn’t exactly got anyone in his life he’s ready to marry in order to get what he wants.  
  
Jim isn’t very aware of the strange maelstrom in McCoy’s mind, looking all the part of an eager child at this pronouncement. “See, Bones! The answer’s been right under your nose all this time!”  
  
And just like that, all the pieces fall into the right place, knock McCoy over the back of the head with an epiphany, and simultaneously make him want to disavow all the fates for telling him that _this_  is his solution.   
  
The answer is right under his nose, though he’s not exactly a hundred percent on it. “Yeah,” he agrees, distracted, but allowing his mind to slowly go through what he’s actually considering.   
  
Jim leaves after they touch base and McCoy is left thinking that it can’t be as easy as he’s thinking. For one thing, it’s complicated. It’s so complicated that he finds himself calling Chapel to his office the very next day in order to touch base with someone slightly removed from the situation.   
  
“I’m thinking of asking Jim to marry me.” There. Just like that, announced and dealt with.   
  
It probably also is the likely culprit for why Chapel is staring at him like he’s lost his mind, decided to enroll it in a Vulcan academy, and supported it going through the kolinahr. Which normally would be a little dramatic and exaggerated, but McCoy’s feeling as if that’s a pretty apt analogy for it, today.   
  
“I wasn’t aware you two were dating, Leonard,” Chapel finally regains herself enough to speak.  
  
And this is going to be a doozy of a conversation, McCoy can see that plainly. “Well,” he admits, shifting uncomfortably in his desk chair. “We’re not. Haven’t ever, and before you ask, the rumors of us having sex during our time at the Academy are just very hopeful. We shared a room and he dated another man named Leo for a couple weeks. People got confused.”  
  
“And your sudden desire to marry him…?”  
  
“My divorce lawyer says if I get married, I get custody of Joanna every shore leave and every time we so much as hint into Earth’s orbit,” McCoy admits and that right there is enough to make everything make sense. “Jim’s a good choice because he’s my best friend, he already adores Joanna, and it benefits him, too. It gives the mature air of a Captain settling down.”  
  
“I know you’ve been married, so you know what marriage means, right?” Chapel is getting slightly quirky with her grins, slightly teasing now.  
  
“I’m not about to lay back and think of Georgia, Chris,” McCoy scowls. “I’d propose under the guise of arrangements. I’m not looking to go into this to get screwed. Literally or figuratively. He can keep sleeping with whomever he wants on distant far planets and I get myself an arrangement where I see Joanna and if anyone ever questions how close Jim and I are to each other, we already know each other inside and out.”  
  
After all, what kind of best friends would they be if they didn’t know little facts like what McCoy likes on top of his salad and what position Jim likes to curl up in at night or the sounds McCoy makes in the morning. And granted, so maybe they’re closer than most friends, but…well, but nothing. Jim keeps sleeping around and McCoy isn’t that masochistic anymore to want to bring on that kind of emotional pain for himself. Any genuine desire to marry Jim in a romantic fashion had fallen by the wayside when McCoy had watched Jim flit his way around the Academy like a goddamn bee collecting pollen.   
  
“You think it’s a stupid plan, don’t you,” McCoy interprets her silence and he doesn’t blame her. Most of the cylinders firing right in his brain are informing him that it’s…yes, a very stupid plan.   
  
"I think it's a very short-sighted plan," she qualifies. "I mean, clearly you've thought about what you want out of things, but you should make sure that if you do actually go through with this, you sit down and you  _talk_  about it, like adults. I mean, this is on the off-chance that the Captain actually gives in to you."  
  
McCoy's not entirely sure, but a part of him hears that and thinks that he hears  _approval_. He dismisses her with nothing more than a nod of his head and a noise that sounds vaguely like 'thanks' in the strange language that he's managed to perfect in all his time training his staff in order to understand him through a series of grunts and vowels. She goes and makes sure to lock the door behind herself so that he has the privacy to think everything over and the time to understand that he's already made his decision on the subject.   
  
It's just a matter of asking.  
  
He has no ring, he has no pretty speech, he has no vows, or plan. He doesn't have some epically interesting presentation that's going to amaze Jim. He just has the barest of his soul and the rawest of truths. He  _wants_  this so badly that he can feel himself pushing forward for it, willing to lie, deceive, and break all the rules to get it. If he just stays fully honest with Jim, he feels like it won't turn out too disastrous. He leans heavily on the intercom and waits for the heavy beep to start down this impetuous road that he's already decided he's going to stay on.  
  
"Jim," he greets, pleasant as anything to start. "You got a minute?"  
  
"Just finishing quarterly ensign reviews. Talk away, Bones," Jim says and he sounds fairly desperate for some kind of distraction. He also sounds faintly tired and McCoy makes a note to grab a cup of coffee. "...Bones?" Jim prompts as the silence spans longer when they're supposed to be talking.  
  
"I'm just wrapping things up, I'll be upstairs in ten, Jim," he assures, folders put away and notes made for the next day's business. It takes him only nine minutes to get up to Jim's ready room, greeting the gamma bridge crew with a nod and pauses to give several of the younger ensigns a quick warning about their upcoming check-ups being necessary and not just some option that they can just ignore.   
  
He excuses himself and steps into the ready room with a PADD tucked under his arm, settling down in the chair opposite Jim. This should be a normal day. They should discuss anything pertinent for bridge-to-medical information sharing, any injuries of the day that affect business as usual, and they usually share what they've heard in regards to ship gossip. It should be a normal day, but McCoy is tense as anything and can't help but feel jittery. His heel keeps pounding into the steel-reinforced floors and he taps his index finger against the table as he tries to word his speech to Jim mentally while they get organized for their discussion.  
  
"Okay, Bones, clearly you have an issue, so let's do ship gossip first," Jim notes wryly, but there is an edge of concern in his voice, which does set McCoy slightly at ease. If nothing else, it proves that he's not wholly off-base in thinking that of all the potential partners, Jim is the very best -- the cream of the crop. "What is it? Is this about the Jo thing?"  
  
Leave it to Jim Kirk to be on the dollar as ever.   
  
"In a way," McCoy agrees, sliding the PADD aside because he knows that if they get started on this topic, they're not likely to inch away from it anytime soon. "Look, Jim, I want you to just hear me out. No clever cracks or witticisms. No sympathy either. I just want you to pay attention to what I have to say. Can you do that for me?"  
  
As if proving he can, Jim zips his lips and gives a firm nod. It's now-or-never for McCoy.   
  
"Okay, here goes nothing," he mutters to himself because he needs to give himself courage from somewhere and he didn't exactly want to be toting a flask filled with alcohol through the bridge just so he could have the liquid bolstering that would have been so helpful at this exact point in time. "Listen, Jim, I know that we're close. Hell, we're best friends and that fact isn't lost on anyone. I've got your back in everything, I'll rip your enemies to shreds, and I will always be on your side, even if you are so god-damned wrong that you're ramming into the wall of the wrong side of the issue. I know that what I'm about to ask isn't the easiest of things and I want you to know that I wouldn't even be approaching the question if this weren't so important to me. What I want to know, Jim, is..." His limbs feel heavy and his heart is tight in his chest and he could pass out, but not before he gets out the question. "Will you marry me?" His face goes flushed, embarrassed, and he feels the immediate need to clarify. "I mean, will you participate in a marriage of convenience?" There. He's said it.  
  
McCoy watches as Jim goes from hopeful to pleased to...well, downright disappointed. "You want me to help you with a sham marriage?"  
  
"Jim," McCoy coaxes softly. "Don't be like that. I do love you and hell, I already spend my life with you. Marry me, Jim."  
  
That seems to get the hopeful pleasure back on his face. "You want me to marry you?" he asks, looking suddenly as bright and beautiful as all the foreign dignitaries speak of him being.   
  
"You can still sleep around. Hell, I'm not going to be the one to clip your wings, I get that, especially not when it's just for Joanna's sake, primarily."  
  
"But you want to  _marry_  me," Jim clarifies, suddenly delighted-sounding. "You're not just about to call Spock in here to make some comment about how 'fascinating' and 'interesting' the concept of human pranks are, especially aimed towards a superior officer? Nyota isn't about to start laughing until she falls off her chair?" He's leaning forward until it looks like Jim may be the one to fall out of his chair, given his precarious positioning. "This isn't some joke. You really choose me? Am I your first pick?"  
  
This is all so comical that it makes McCoy laugh, strained, and give Jim a bemused look. "You kidding me, kid?" he gets out between deep, hearty chuckles that seem to reach down to his very core and settle his nerves. "Of course you're my number one choice. I'm offended you even had to ask that." He reaches forward to take Jim's left hand into his own. "Hell, I don't have a ring. I wasn't even planning on doing this until you started talking about what was under my nose." And hell, he'll be damned, but McCoy swears he's just made Jim blush like a virgin bride. "So? You're leaving me hanging, Jim. Are you going to make an honest man of me, given that I'm willing to stretch the world and back to give you provisions?"  
  
"The answer is clearly yes," Jim says. "And I'm offended you even doubted me for a single second. If we're doing this, we're doing it right. I don't do halfways..."  
  
"--god help me, I know that much--"   
  
"And that means full wedding, full reception, full  _honeymoon_. I've heard Risa's beautiful this time of year," Jim finishes with his raving.  
  
"What next, you pull out your wedding scrapbook on me?" McCoy asks lightly as he sits back in the chair, folding his arms over his torso.  
  
"Please, Bones," Jim scoffs. "Like you would ever match the coral color theme I wanted when I was eight years old."  
  
And really, McCoy should just not be surprised that Jim is the kind of man who put together a full album of wedding plans when he was eight. He can't even see anyone attempting to threaten Jim's masculinity with that fact because he's just not that kind of guy. He's Jim Kirk, all forms unique, special, and so differentiated from the rest of the universe that anyone else could only hope to imitate and never come close to actually  _being_  him. "I control the guest list," he insists, if they're at the point of their barely-born engagement where they're making demands.  
  
"Done."  
  
"And I make sure the menu doesn't induce an allergic reaction," he warns.  
  
"No argument from me," Jim assures.  
  
"You're really agreeing to marry me," McCoy notes in wonder, still thinking that he's possibly hit his head in the duration of their conversation and that's why everything is going so perfectly. Any minute now, Chekov is going to turn up carrying bows and arrows dressed like a cherub of love, dance a Russian folklore dance or something, and McCoy will finish it all off by winning the lottery. Except that nothing out of the ordinary happens and Jim starts to talk about ship business like it's just any other day and like he hasn't just accepted McCoy's proposal.   
  
"Okay, first order of business, we need to start revisiting the efficiency of pre-mission inoculations..."  
  
Just like that, everything goes back to normal. It's like McCoy never suggested marriage at all, but for the manic gleam in Jim's eyes that says otherwise.  
  
**  
  
"I don't want to take up too much of your wedding night," John Bannister, Lawyer At Large, is saying to McCoy (who isn't really paying much attention to the world around him because he's just been  _literally carried_  in Jim's arms to a private room outside the large reception hall. He's cut cake, had it fed to him, pried an ill-placed garter from off Jim's calf with his teeth (and why, god, why had he let Jim talk him into that one?), he's danced the first danced, said increasingly sappy and true vows, and done everything clichéd and horrifying about a wedding that he had once vowed to never do again.  
  
He's been pronounced 'man and husband' and been kissed like Jim had been trying to silence him fully for  _years_  and now he's taking a call from a former divorce lawyer. Surreal doesn't even begin to cover it. This has launched all the way past surreal and has managed to eke into the territory of 'it's just not plain real'. McCoy is slightly out of breath because he'd been trying to escape the damn conga line the whole time, but now he gets a moment to breathe.  
  
"John," he greets pleasantly. "Is this about the papers?" Because before everything -- before the wedding plans and the honeymoon tickets -- Jim had agreed that the very first thing they would do was to file papers to even out the custody. In the process, McCoy had also named Jim the guardian on his behalf if anything ever happened to him because he really does trust Jim with the life of both himself and his daughter.   
  
He can hear the party still raring. They're on Risa because it's close to the honeymoon stop which is supposed to start in a matter of hours. Not that the honeymoon matters much. McCoy's got some paperwork to catch up on while Jim no doubt goes to a bar to pull some hot young thing to indulge his sexual desires in. Every once in a while he hears a distinctive voice calling him back to join in the dancing, but John doesn't look very impressed at all and McCoy is inclined to side with the lawyer that can control his (and his daughter's) fate.   
  
"I just wanted to give you word that everything went through today," John promises. "You're officially a part-time father. My congratulations to yourself and Captain Kirk. Quite the big fish to reel in."  
  
"Well, what can I say?" McCoy drawls sarcastically. "It's my second marriage. Had to go big or go home."  
  
"Yes," John muses. "I had heard that Captain Kirk was quite b..."  
  
"I'm quite what now?" Well, that explains why John had gone so suddenly silent and pale. McCoy turns to greet Jim with a smile and ends up earning a press of a fond kiss to the top of his hair as Jim slides his hands down McCoy's chest and hooks on tight, chin to McCoy's head. It's a pretty picture and McCoy knows he has to thank Jim for it later because it's a convincing show and Jim didn't have to go to all this trouble just for him. His fingers are busy idly stroking over McCoy's hipbones in a way that's definitely getting a reaction and not for the first time does McCoy realize that he might be in trouble because of this little ploy of his. "Hey husband," he greets in a low-sticky way that has McCoy's hips rising up as if to greet him.   
  
He just has to keep reminding himself that Jim likes to keep a lover of the week and that isn't likely to be changing anytime soon. This isn't a serious marriage, this is just a front for a lawyer. It's just a very, very good  _convincing_  front.   
  
He tries not to think about nights in which he'd spent sleeping in a bed staring at Jim and just wondering  _what if_ ,  _what if_  Jim had been slightly different, what if he were just a little older, what if he'd had his heart broken and was looking for the real thing? None of those questions had mattered back then because every few days there'd been someone else and that someone else had never been McCoy. Jim had never looked at McCoy the way he looked at other people and even though that'd hurt McCoy's ego some, he just took comfort in the fact that they were such close friends that preserving the friendship had been worth ignoring the feelings McCoy had beneath the surface.  
  
All of that has flown out the window now because he's busy noticing the adept and agile way Jim's hands have of traversing McCoy's body as though spanning the ridges and rocky bumps of a globe, tentatively brushing the pads of his fingers over soft skin and smooth fabric, rubbing back and forth and causing small earthquakes of friction followed by an aftershock of teasing, when his thumb touches for just long enough that it doesn't do much at all.  
  
 _Man and husband_ , the officiate at the altar had said. McCoy almost wants to ask who's who, but he's busy just trying to breathe  _in_  and to breathe  _out_. "Did you hear that, Jim?" McCoy asks, feeling buoyed by the fact that he has his daughter back in a manner of speaking to go along with his brand new husband.   
  
"We'll have to visit her with some of our time," Jim agrees and brushes another unexpected kiss to McCoy's cheek, making him feel suddenly like he's floating on a cloud of drugs that are clouding his sanity and making him think that he's supposed to deserve something this incredible. Maybe Jim dosed the reception hall with ether and that's why he feels so absolutely late. "John, do you mind if I steal my husband? Our honeymoon starts in exactly twenty-two minutes and I really don't plan on missing a single moment."   
  
The ring on McCoy's finger, which used to be a weight at the end with Jocelyn, now feels like it fits so right that he forgets it's there at all. They say their goodbyes to the tune of details about when they can visit Joanna (which is an easy and perfect 'whenever you'd like provided forty-eight hours of notice) and then the feed goes dead and it's just Jim and McCoy.  
  
Jim is still looking at McCoy like he's some kind of treat to be devoured and it's terrifying while at the same time it's slightly invigorating. "Jim, he's off the line. Down, boy," he deadpans.   
  
"I meant it. Honeymoon starts soon, we have to start dispersing the crowd and we have to check into the room," Jim says, tapping an invisible watch on his wrist. McCoy gives a nod of agreement as he feels some of the first tricklings of panic that he tries to ignore. It's just an arrangement and he's sure that within hours, Jim will be telling him all about some hot girl or guy that he's found and has decided to woo with all his temporary lover prowess. "I'll give Spock the message to see everyone safely out. It's my wedding night, I'm not about to waste my time on that," he says.  
  
When McCoy parts his lips to ask exactly which bar Jim intends to go to in order to look for a conquest, he's suddenly interrupted by Jim pressing his lips against his, claiming a kiss with soft and insistent lips, sucking on McCoy's lower lip while his hands sneak inside the band of McCoy's tuxedo pants (which Jim has been trying to get inside all night, though usually there's a dozen witnesses present). McCoy swallows hard and wets his chapped lips as he stares at Jim and wonders just what on earth that had been for.  
  
"Don't look at me like that," Jim reproaches quietly, glancing away as if suddenly skittish. "C'mon, I hear this suite is gorgeous,” he coaxes, grabbing hold of McCoy's hand hard and forcibly tugging him towards the door. He only parts to head down the hall to communicate the goal of the evening to Spock and then he's back at McCoy's side like he never left. "The responsible first officer assures me that he won't stand for any drunken debauchery. We are free and clear of responsibility for the night. M'Benga has promised to release hangover cures in a manner best befitting them."  
  
Something about all this is growing stranger by the minute. At first, McCoy had just thought Jim was being thorough in insisting that all their friends and relatives come (though they couldn't convince Jocelyn to bring Joanna and so there's one glaring absence). He'd been confused about the vows, which had been more true to life than McCoy had really expected.   
  
Sure, he knows how head over heels he is for Jim (if he ever takes a second to admit it), but he'd never thought he'd have heard Jim's vows coming from him, talking about trust and a devotion to love, talking about how sacrifice is important and how Jim's life would only be a shadow of its current existence if not for his Bones lighting it up. And the kissing...well, McCoy needs to not linger on the kissing because it makes him go cross-eyed, aroused, and frustrated all at once.  
  
These are the thoughts that distract him during the trip up to the suite that's been rented out for four days before they conclude the rest of a lavish and personal honeymoon on Earth where they'll spend the days at the old McCoy farmhouse in Georgia. By the time they arrive at the double-doors of the massive suite, he definitely feels as though something is going on and McCoy has been left out of the loop.   
  
McCoy stands in the foyer of the room while Jim makes his way around the complimentary champagne and the tray of wedding cake that's been sent up for their enjoyment. He pries off his suitjacket, leaving him in just his waistcoat and perfectly pressed shirt, suspenders unhooked from his shoulders. Between that and Jim's mussed hair, he has the air of an old movie star in one of his down moments -- still insufferably perfect, but more human somehow. McCoy could never hope to look like that and just maybe there's some yearning that McCoy can't quite had as he watches Jim make his circles about the room, getting ready to change.   
  
"You not planning on going out again?" McCoy asks, finding his voice finally -- trapped under the avalanched deluge of personal thoughts that are inappropriate (though not anymore because thoughts about one's spouse fall heartily under the appropriate category).   
  
Jim glances back with surprise as he unhooks one of the suspender clasps. "Go where?"  
  
"You know, some bar?" McCoy jokes warmly.   
  
"On my wedding night? Not on your life," Jim assures and pries off the other clasp, hooking the suspenders over the massive wooden-carved headboard of the bed. There's something devilish and devastating about that particular grin that Jim's throwing his way and while it makes him feel as if he's on unsteady ground, it also makes him feel secure in knowing that Jim can at least feign wanting him on that level. "Bones, the reception's over," he coaxes. "You can get changed. I had Janice bring up some civvies." He lifts the suitcase slightly as if to prove his point, but McCoy is just enjoying watching the show.   
  
"Thought you'd be at a bar by now," McCoy finally admits as he pries off his jacket and flexes his shoulders as he hangs it up on the coat-rack and turns to join Jim near the king-bed, prying a pair of sweats and a threadbare t-shirt of his out of the suitcase.  
  
Jim is right there at his hip, fingers brushing McCoy's as he reaches in for his own pajamas -- just as worn, just as old. "Bones, I'm offended. You're not giving me your sexiest," he chides and shakes his head. "What happened to lace teddies? What happened to silk boxers? What happened to  _romance_?" He turns and grasps McCoy by the hips, leaning in and tipping his head forward just enough so that there's a gleam in his eyes that's most definitely not just pure and innocent. "We're on our  _honeymoon_ , Bones. And you're wearing your University t-shirt and I'm wearing the same pajamas I've had for five years."  
  
"Jim," McCoy notes, voice getting slightly strangled.   
  
His eyelids flutter lower and Jim starts to unbutton McCoy's pants. His breaths get heavier as Jim's palms slide lower to push off his trousers. The only time he ever eases away is to press their chests together and pull McCoy in for a deep kiss, but then he's right back to where he'd started. McCoy lets himself be divested of shirt, waistcoat, and suspenders before rationality and logic kicks back into play.   
  
"Jim!" McCoy says again, sharper this time and it manages to get Jim to pull away slightly.   
  
Jim looks confused and if McCoy focuses on his pattern of breathing, he'd notice that it's just as ragged as McCoy's. No one's here to watch them, no one is judging their marriage, and no one is going to deem it false if they don't 'seal the deal', so to speak. "What is it?" he asks, clearly concerned.   
  
"Jim, this...you don't have to do this."  
  
"We got married, Bones, I  _get_  to do this."  
  
And just like that, he knows. It shouldn't take two geniuses to understand and they're both smart men. It all clicks. That McCoy has been thinking that this is all a sham, for Jim. And worse, that McCoy has just realized that Jim has been taking this seriously and has been intending to pursue the evening as far as he can, all the way into the bedroom and to a glorious morning after.   
  
"Oh, shit," is all that McCoy gets out.  
  
"Fuck," Jim says, but his is determinedly angrier. "I thought, all this time, that you were straight. I thought I never had a shot with you because of that and I was  _right_? You just wanted this fully for the legal benefits. I mean, I know you said so, I know you did, but you're my best friend and the way you looked at me! The way you treated me, I thought this was...you let me have the wedding! And the reception! You let me have this hotel room and the seaside visit and and and everything! You let me have  _everything_ , I thought you just wanted to have me."  
  
"Jim," McCoy barely feels himself getting out, wheezing it out in quiet desperation.  
  
"No," Jim cuts him off. "No,  _Leonard_. Don't add fuel to this fire," he says, laughing pathetically and groaning as he pushes his hands through his hair. "I thought that this was too good to be true, but I put it aside because I've wanted you so badly for so long. You only ever slept with women though, you only ever dated women, you never looked at me the way you looked at...well, any of them! And you asked me to marry you and I said yes and I thought it would change things." He slams the suitcase shut and starts to pace around the room, furious and heated. "I'm such an idiot," he haplessly laughs to himself.   
  
"Jim...for god's sake, let me get a word in..."  
  
"No," Jim interrupts once more, cutting him off curtly. "No, I'm leaving. You clearly want me to do that. You want me to go crawl a bar for someone to spend one night with when I'm actually pretty keen on spending my life with  _you_. I'll be in another room and we'll talk in the morning. At least give me the decency of tonight on my own," he snaps, grabbing his zipped-shut suitcase and yanking it from the bed to tug it off in his hasty departure.   
  
That leaves McCoy alone in a honeymoon suite built for two with his spouse pissed off at him. Funny, it took him years of his last marriage to get to the sitting-alone-in-a-bedroom point. He's already breaking new records at this rate.   
  
He collapses back against the bed on his back and after a moment's thought, reaches for the phone, calling down to the front desk. "Yeah, hi. I need a delivery made in the morning to whatever room Mr. James Tiberius Kirk is in...no, not the goddamn honeymoon suite, he's about to check in somewhere else.  _Yes_ , everything is fine. Just do what I say and I'll make sure you get tipped. I need room service, I need some paper and a pen, and I need it with tomorrow morning's breakfast..."  
  
He's not starting a second marriage on the verge of collapse. There are just some things he absolutely refuses.  
  
**  
  
Jim wakes up to the sun shining through the curtains and spilling onto the floor, Risan birds chirping outside his window, and the smell of eggs and bacon wafting through the room. He blinks and sits up to survey the small guest room he'd checked into last night after the fireworks flew and sees far too many things that shouldn't belong. For one, he's sure he didn't order room service breakfast to be beamed into his room at this hour, and he definitely didn't ask for four dozen roses, or the bottle of Saurian brandy wrapped with a bow. In front of it all is a thick envelope with 'JIM' written in fancy calligraphy.   
  
He's also fairly sure he didn't go to bed planning on waking up to some of the best classical music of the Rolling Stones to guide him into waking while singing about Satisfaction. Jim rubs his eyes as he sits up and reaches for the envelope, fully aware of who this is all from. He feels, actually, fairly like he's being manipulated into guilt over everything he'd said when it had been nothing but the truth.   
  
 _Jim,  
  
Since you didn't let me get a word in edgewise, I figured I ought to at least try and defend my side of the story where you can't argue back like the impudent stubborn brat you can be. And yes, I can see the fact you're making right now. Don't even deny it, you're as stubborn as they come, kid. Let's just get the facts on the table before we go any further. Yes, I reacted badly. Yes, I thought you were just in it to help me out. I watched you flit around campus with enough determination that you'd think you were going for a medal in devious and debauched sexual acts. You like men, women, aliens, and that one plant-hybrid that was visiting. You like them all and you never once settled with any of them, which left me thinking you didn't want that. So when you said yes, I thought it was more of the same verse.  
  
See, Jim, thing is, I adore you. Yeah, in the 'you're my annoying best friend' way, but also in the way that your hands on my body make me feel heady and incomparable. And hell, the thought of waking up to you...well, it's without compare.  
  
I know you're pissed with me, but I have no intention of spending a honeymoon alone. I'm leaving this morning and I'll give you space. If you want to come hash things out with me, I'll be in Georgia. If not...well, Jim, I hope to hell that you'll at least give me the benefit of a talk before you decide to walk out of my life.  
  
Yours (and I really am  yours),  
Bones_  
  
It just makes Jim love and hate the man even more because only Bones could take a situation and render it even more complicated when it's already been on the precipice of complicated and impossible to ignore. Jim had been completely over the moon when he thought Bones had been proposing to him because in a second flat, it had eliminated all of Jim's prior conceptions and told him that yes, he can live in a world where Bones is with him. Not only  _with_  him, but so committed that he wants to marry him. And sure, it's for Joanna, but he's the first choice.  
  
He tosses the note aside, but leaves it intact because he might want it later when he isn't so pissed.   
  
Then, instead of calling Bones to talk about an issue that he'd really like his best friend over to discuss, he calls Nyota. For a while, he thinks that she might not pick up at all and he'll be saved all future embarrassing conversation because she's having a luxurious lie-in. The comm rings three more times and Jim almost thinks that he's home safe because he's  _tried_  to call her. Except then she goes against expectation and picks up.  
  
"Jim, it's seven in the morning the night after your wedding," Nyota sighs tiredly. "And why are you calling from some superior suite room?"  
  
"That's sort of why I wanted to talk to you," Jim says wryly. "Can you come down?"  
  
"Give me five minutes and I'll be there," she replies and Jim can even hear the rustling of clothes that guarantees that she's good to her word (as though Jim would ever doubt her. There's driven and then there's  _Nyota_ , known for her drive in much the same way Spock is known for his stoicism or Bones is known for his down-South grumpy moods). He hangs up and inspects the roses and the brandy, giving breakfast a quick pause of a glance to note that Bones apparently isn't caring about his cholesterol today, which means he must be  _really_  sorry.   
  
He's settled down with a plate of food by the time she arrives with a set of three knocks to his door. Bacon and eggs forgotten, Jim heads to the door to open it and lets Nyota do the rest of the work. He settles back down in one of the chairs, robe over his pajamas and plate of breakfast on his lap.   
  
"Well," she observes. "The flowers and the general air look like you just got married, but the distinct lack of a husband is really working against you, Jim," she points out. "Where's Leonard?"  
  
"Alone in the honeymoon suite. Or, he was until he checked out," Jim replies, swallowing his bacon after speaking with his mouth full for too long. "We had a fight. A big one." As if that isn't already self-explanatory given his presence in a different room. "I thought he was finally giving in to his love for me even though he's straight...which is all true. And he thought that I would be wanting to continue my old ways while married to him...which is not true, but it's not like I ever said otherwise. I just laughed along every time he brought it up like it was some big joke." He sets the cutlery aside, swallowing hard as he stares at Nyota. "He married me for custodial reasons."  
  
"No he didn't."  
  
"He  _did_ ," Jim insists, plucking one of the roses from the vase and twirling it within his fingers.   
  
Nyota gives a soft sigh of minor frustration, as if she's well and truly done with dealing with Jim Kirk. "Yes, he  _married_  you to do it, but he would have wanted to be with you otherwise. He wants to be with you, only you, and have you not sleeping around. You think he's using you. He thinks you're placating him. You're both idiots," she concludes. "Although he's a grovelling idiot, at least. These roses are  _beautiful_."  
  
Jim rests his head in his hands and tries to figure this all out. He wants to believe that it can all work out, but he's spent the morning knowing that he can't even ask for a divorce because it'll impede Bones' ability to see Joanna, so that leaves being cold and distant, trying to piss Bones off or teach him a lesson as if that's going to do either of them any good. He rubs at his eyes and sighs heavily, hating that it's come to this. "I want him," Jim says simply.   
  
"Well, that is a good sign. After all, you did marry him. Does he want you?"  
  
Jim nods, however small the reaction is, it's still a nod. The letter and the gifts and the  _breakfast_  with bacon has proved that so wholly and he can't deny it. It's strange to come to terms with it, but whatever it might have appeared to be at the start, it's different now that the light's been shone on it and things are slowly becoming clear. It's a marriage of convenience with the one person in the world that they put above everyone else. Pretty convenient, really, Jim thinks, to have the supposed love of your life  _need_  you so badly that he proposes on a moment's notice.   
  
He's exhausted and part of him hates that he just wants to talk to Bones about this.   
  
He wants his best friend. His best friend just happens to also be his husband at this particular moment in time (and that doesn't seem likely to change), which means that Jim has to start doing some adjusting --  _fast_.  
  
"Whatever you do," Nyota is saying, sliding the rose back into the vase with its compatriots, "I suggest that you take your time in doing it. Spock has control of the ship and he hardly minds playing Captain while you put your personal life in order. We'll manage, Jim," she says in that soothing way that manages to constantly assure him that everything is going to be just okay. She reaches forward to clasp his shoulder lightly and eases back. "Where's McCoy now?"  
  
"Georgia," Jim drawls, as if just saying the name requires an accent.  
  
"Well, then, I suggest you high-tail it to there and work things out."  
  
"Nyota," Jim sighs out her name. "See how much sense you make? This is exactly what we need in our young ensigns."  
  
"I'll start the training program right away," she says sarcastically. "Don't let that brain of yours work itself into a fit, Jim," she warns. "Let him talk,  _listen_ , and I'm sure the both of you will have no trouble working everything out."  
  
When she puts it like that, it makes it sound so simple and he swears that it can't be. Not when they've been so complicated suddenly out of nowhere. She's gone before Jim can ask for any more advice that might make the situation easier. She's gone and Jim isn't sure he's ready to talk to Bones just yet, so he doesn't call him, even though he wants to do nothing more than that. Instead, he flops back onto the bed and thinks to himself that he needs a time machine to just make all of his errors go away.  
  
Or he just needs to make sure that Bones knows that Jim doesn't think of any of this as a mistake.  
  
Days until he ought to show his face in Georgia so that everything can calm down, but Jim has never exactly been a patient man.   
  
"Days," he insists, even though he's his own worst enemy and his own best supporter at this moment in time. He stares at the ceiling and looks for patterns or explanation there, but there's nothing but spackle and stains. He has days before he's going to see Bones again and they're going to have either very different or very much the same lives.   
  
**  
  
McCoy's been unsure about coming back to Georgia. For one thing, it's not like he's got the greatest of memories about the farmhouse here. It's where he'd whiled out the last days of his marriage with Jocelyn and now it's where he's spending the first few tumultuous days of his marriage to Jim. It's almost like some cursed object that is bound to keep his life from ever being perfect, but hell, it's comfortable and it's where all his stuff is. Joanna isn't due in for another two days, so McCoy's had time to himself to put all his thoughts in line. He only really has the three words circling his mind again and again:  
  
 _Jim was serious._  
  
It puts everything into a fully new light because McCoy's not ready to be divorced, but now he might not have to live through a loveless marriage. If their aborted honeymoon's proved anything, it's that Jim actually does want him to the point that he's made things pretty clear. Jim wants McCoy and now he's pissed because he's sure the marriage is fully for convenience.   
  
And yeah, it had been, when McCoy had been sure that Jim wasn't the type to be able to settle down, when McCoy had thought that Jim only wanted to sow his seeds around as many fields as he could. James Tiberius Kirk, the devoted and loyal loving husband? That's a horse of a different color, so to speak, and it's not something that McCoy is about to turn away from right now. He's coming in from a day in the field with the crop to try and get his thoughts in line. He's sweating, dirty, and wearing torn-up old clothes that look like they belong in the trash and not on McCoy's frame.   
  
This is how he comes back to his home. This is how he's found by Jim, who's decided to settle in on his couch, television blaring, and a plate of dinner in front of him.   
  
For all that they have to talk about and for all the apologies that McCoy is sure he needs to give, the only thing that comes to mind at that very second is irritation and he's pushing forward to swipe Jim's heels off the table. "You know my rules about eating in the living room," he says, dropping in the seat beside Jim like nothing between them is awkward or strange or needs forgiving.   
  
"You left out steak, what else was I supposed to do?" Jim wonders as he leans forward to put his plate back down.   
  
That, for some reason, is what elongates the awkward pause between them and McCoy isn't sure which of them is supposed to speak first. He has the feeling that if it's him, he's likely to say something stupid that will only make everything all-the-worse between them because he's not good at patching up relationships. Give him a heart or a broken leg to mend and he's fine. Romance? Love? He's lost.  
  
Jim clears his throat. "So I go first, huh?"  
  
"Unless you want to fight again. You know I'm terrible at this," McCoy admits in a hush. "All I can tell you is that I'm sorry I judged you poorly. I ought to know better than anyone that you're not what your rep says, but I'd never seen anything else, so I let myself believe it. Still, Jim, you know I can't exactly get a divorce, but I don't want one either," he admits, even though it's stilted and takes a long moment to get out so that it still sounds sincere. He clears his throat and looks to the side to gauge Jim's reaction to all this. "Jim?"  
  
"I missed you," is all Jim says in reply. "I was supposed to stay pissed and be all angry, but I was lonely and I kept reaching for the phone to call you before I remembered we're fighting," he admits, shifting on the couch. He slides one knee slowly against McCoy's waist and then adjusts the other so it's pressed up against McCoy's other thigh and then very carefully, very thoughtfully, Jim sits his weight back against McCoy's thighs, arms wrapped around his neck. "I liked the roses. Romantic."  
  
"The floral shop chose. I wanted to send you dragon-lilies," McCoy grumbles, hands automatically reaching out to hold tight to Jim's hips.   
  
"Would've liked those more," Jim says after a moment's consideration.   
  
"Yeah, I figure," McCoy sighs out the words, something like happiness lurking in his words. He tells it to scram, but when he says, "I missed you too," it hasn't gone anywhere. "And the reason I don't want a divorce is because if I really do get you, marriage and monogamy and all, I'd be an idiot to turn it away and I think you know as well as I do that I'm a very, very smart man."  
  
"It is mentioned in your file," Jim agrees with a cheeky smirk. "The whole genius thing. I mean, I know I brought you on board for your good loo...ow." McCoy gives his own victorious smirk as he lets loose his pinched grip of Jim's thigh. "Bones, I'm sorry too. I should have said when you brought up the whole marriage of convenience thing. Instead I got all devious, thinking that a real wedding and reception would make you see. Apparently, according to Nyota, there's this thing that married couples do called talking...I've heard good things."  
  
That gets a hoarse laugh out of McCoy and he tips his head up to look at Jim, reaching down for his left hand to pry it up and place soft kisses to his ring finger. "I took vows to love and cherish thee. Apparently I needed vows to not hide behind the bullshit of legalities," he grumbles and offers Jim an apologetic look. "Forgive me?"  
  
"Depends."  
  
"On?"  
  
"How fast you're going to start making up my wedding night to me," Jim says, wiggling his hips and causing some very  _interesting_  friction that's not at all able to be ignored. McCoy hisses out slowly like steam coming out an antique train engine. It only gets worse when that be-ring'd finger of Jim's slides up McCoy's thigh and dips into the curve and the junction of where it all meets and though he's only touching McCoy through fabric, it's like everything downstairs has decided to perk awake, like Jim's the Pied Piper and he's helpless to his song.  
  
They have two days until Joanna joins them. They have two days before McCoy's daughter arrives and he's reminded of why he ever started down this road to begin with.   
  
Forty-eight hours is a lot of time to completely and utterly deflower Jim Kirk.  
  
**  
  
It’s Joanna coming down the path and kicking up dust, Jim at his side, and McCoy knows in one instant that as hard as the road had been to get them where they are, it’s been more than worth it. “Hey, kiddo!” Jim announces, swooping Joanna up in a tight hug. “Welcome home.”  
  
Home, as it is, is not going anywhere. That’s one thing McCoy  _does_  know and is willing to keep the same.   
  
THE END

 


End file.
